Who Is TM?
by Dont Look At Me Pls
Summary: "I don't know why, but I feel like I recognize this life," Ray mused from atop the roof, the night breeze ruffling his short hair.
1. Odds Are

Shiver.

Ever since the incident, Ray had been volatile. The fans noticed before his coworkers; a sudden breakup, silence while working, ambition, subtle voice cracks, angry response, exhaustion, lack of enthusiasm.

In truth, he was happy. He really was. But he was also afraid, afraid of a lot, and afraid for reasons nobody would quite understand.

He could only push that fear aside for so long before the mumblings started: "Is Ray okay? Did something happen? Is this someone's fault?"

A sigh.

He wanted to tell everyone what was going on, what was amiss, but he knew what would happen. There was a reason predicaments like his were unheard of: those they affect remain silent or are silenced.

Stretch.

He didn't often remember his dreams. They were usually nonsensical anyway, ranging from flying, free, in an endless universe, to having a friend force-feed him sand until he woke up gasping. When he rose, he knew it was all imagination, and the memories faded soon after.

Then the ghost came.

It had his face, his hands, his hair. It had his dialect, mannerisms. It was him.

The only thing different were the eyes. When it turned to face Ray, he could see them clearly: white, distraught, hollow.

He woke up immediately, frozen in place. Sweat made his skin feel sticky and unclean, but despite his efforts, he could not overcome the paralysis grasping his body to find a more comfortable position to sleep in. The image of his ghost's eyes still burned in his mind.

A wave of fear crawled up his spine, as the darkness of his room seemed to close in. The blurred shadows shifted, and out of the corner of his eye Ray saw a figure take shape.

His head felt as if it was filling with cotton, his lungs with electricity, his body with void. A bolt of sensation pulled through his entire being, his body arching free of it's paralysis in an ungodly manner, as if possessed.

His mind went from cottony to cloudy as his consciousness faded. He could not feel his body moving, could not feel his teeth clicking, could not hear the whispers emanating from his throat. It was not his body, not his mind attached to it. His essence drifted, dancing along the fine line of sleep and death, thinking:

"That was the weirdest wet dream I've had since junior high."

Ray had woken up that morning very sick. He trembled with fever; his every bone ached. As wakefulness seeped into his being, memories of feeling rushed into his head. The image of the ghost had not left his mind, as if it had not been a dream at all.

Glancing around, standing up.

Though his newfound skills were surreal at the very least, Ray was mindful enough to make use of them.

He'd set his alarm for 3 am on Saturdays, in order to get up before danger prowled back into it's cave of nighttime, untouchable and unnoticed by creatures of the day. Donning the mask and oversized hoodie, he would leave his small apartment and wander downtown, weave through the seemingly empty streets. Seemingly. He had learned to listen, learned to double-check each alleyway and learned to hope he was unnoticed by the eyes peering from the shadows, scanning for weaker prey.

_Aha._

"What were you saying about your boyfriend?"

"Please stop-"

"I'll beat your pretty little face, bitch."

Ray stepped into the alley quietly, assessing the situation. Big dude, tiny girl. Anyone could say the obvious situation, but that didn't make it the correct one. The lad proceeded forward.

"Hey," He murmured, putting his hand on the big guy's shoulder. Ray let his thoughts filter away as he studied his subject through psychometry before the bigger man could blink.

_Trevor H. Irven. Thirty-one. Drug dealer. Gun on person. Will shoot to kill. Will beat tiny girl to death. Dangerous._

"What the fuck you you want, kid?" The large man spun around, his fists balled.

"About my Mary J," Ray grinned, moving at lightning speed. Two black roses embedded their stems into the big guy's shoulders, thrown by none other than the lad himself. Letting out a cry of anger and pain, the large man swung his arms wildly. A sudden blast of electricity sprung from the black roses, taking the beast of a man down to the cement.

The small woman stood against the wall, her eyes wide. "You look more shocked than the electrocuted dude on the ground," Ray stated simply. She jumped, looking nervously back and forth between the two men before her. "Care to explain why he was about to pummel you to the floor, lady?"

She cleared her throat. "I, uh, he asked me out to uh, to dinner, and then he started to get all aggro, so uh, I made up something about having a boyfriend, and he pulled me out here and started yelling, Jesus Christ thank you for saving me, oh my god..." The lady shook her head, as if trying to forget what had happened.

Ray's brow furrowed beneath his hood. "Mind if I check some validity?" He asked, holding out his hand.

"...What? How? What?"

Ray rolled his eyes. "Nobody knows what a hi-five is anymore? Jesus Christ. Welcome to the 21st century, everyone, I'll be your damn guide."

The woman hi-fived Ray tentatively (or awkwardly, it's hard to tell the difference). Her story checked out.

"Alright then," Ray nodded, "Nice working with you, Miss Croft. You should call the police, tell them T.M. sent you."

"T.M.? What does that stand for?"

"It, uh, doesn't matter. Police'll know who it is. 911, come on, big daddy here isn't going to be asleep forever."

The woman pulled out her phone and quickly dialed the three digit number. When she turned around, the young man was gone, a single red rose laying elegantly where he last stood.

"Fucking got 'em," Ray had snickered to himself, jumping silently across rooftops, the moon outside dark.

Exit the building.

"X-Ray! My boi!" Gavin caught Ray in the parking lot, waving. "Michael and I were gonna go swimmies tomorrow, but a lot more people jumped on our cheeky little bandwagon. You should come along too! Swimmybevs!"

"Sounds fun. Who's gonna be there?"

A dragged out "eeeevvveeerrryyyooonnneeee."

Ray laughed. "I'll bring the weed."

"Sounds top! You'll need a ride?"

"Probably."

"Ray's not allowed in my fuckin' car," Geoff rolled up beside the two lads walking across the lot, grinning. "Too many lads in a single vehicle is not permitted. There's a reason why I had just one kid."

"Boooo!" The two lanky boys called, "X-ray and Vav forever!"

"But no really," Geoff said, "My back seats are already taken. Jack's car is in the shop, so he and Caiti are riding with me."

"Aw, fuck."

"Sorry mate," Gavin shrugged. Ray assured him it was fine.

"I'll grab a ride with whoever. It's all good." Exchanging farewells, Ray turned out of the parking area and onto the sidewalk.

Tomorrow was Friday.

"Fuck!" He murmured through his teeth. He needed to have enough energy to wake up at three the following morning and make sure the city roads were as safe as he could get them. That was no easy feat on its own; most of Ray's Saturdays were met with fatigue, his nighttime escapades taking their toll on his body. Having a Friday night party was not the best plan of attack.

Ray continued down the road to his apartment. Things like this were always happening. He'd cop out of a party, or a get-together, or even a workday, simply because he didn't feel sociable. But was it such a simple thing? Being different on a level so much more profound than thought itself had its repercussions, and Ray had no time to grow accustomed to them.

His guilt got the better of him. He had already blown off Tina a few weeks ago, he couldn't keep running away from his friends, from people who cared for him.

Ray dragged his feet on the pavement. He was sure it'd be fine.


	2. Don't Pull Over

Work was short on Friday. The AH team recorded a few episodes of Versus and a Things To Do, and afterward Geoff went to a meeting. Ray and Michael laughed about a few videos and vines they found online while Gavin edited. Ryan continued working on whatever weird program he was creating, and Jack took time to set up some new wooden stand he made specifically for his Assassin's Creed games. As the people in the small office began to take lunch breaks, Ray grabbed a few precious moments of sleep before anyone noticed.

He woke up an hour later with Barbra putting tiny ponytails in his hair. She had successfully tied seven or eight, and Ray, in his still-drowsy state, was baffled by her ability to style his hair despite it's short length. He shooed her away, pulling the bands from his hair and shooting them at her.

"Stop!" She squeaked, dashing out of the office. Ray jumped up, pursuing the blonde. He was met with two rubber bands to the face as soon as he opened the office door; Barbra and Arryn laughed, readying more ties.

Ray shot two bands at the girls, who ran farther into the building. The three of them had a snipe-off in between rooms, Ray hiding where his attackers couldn't get clear shots at him.

The Puerto Rican felt around for any extra hair bands. Finding none, a rush overcame him when a single band came whiz zing dangerously close to his nose. Grinning, he threw his hand out towards his opponents.

He heard a yelp. Immediately bristling, Ray leapt from his hiding place, adrenaline racing through his blood. Had he thrown anything? In nights recent, Ray found the control over pure energy blasts had grown stronger. Did he fire a ball of energy? Had he hurt someone?

He looked to see a rose at the ladies' feet. Sighing with relief, he watched Barbra bend to pick it up.

"Did you just throw a rose at me, Ray?"

Quickly conjuring a small bouquet behind his back, Ray hollered "JUST ROSE," tossing the ruby-red flowers at Arryn and Barbra. The two of them laughed, scolding him for wasting plants.

He laughed as well, but uneasily. Had anyone seen him pull the roses out of thin air? Turning around, he felt his body itch to flee despite there being nobody present. "Joel?" He chirped, quickly turning back to the two girls.

"What about him?" Barbra was sitting cross-legged, attempting to make a flower crown from the roses.

"Know where he is?"

"Oh," Arryn chirruped, "He was in a conference room during lunch. He might be in the kitchen now."

Ray thanked her, then turned and hurried to the building's kitchen area. Every so often, a petal appeared in the air near the young man, swirling and settling as he rushed by.

Joel stood in the doorway of an open refrigerator, contemplating what bottle of beer to choose, when Ray skidded in. The older man looked up, mildly surprised.

"Sup Joel," Ray breathed, glad to escape from Barbra and Arryn's presence.

"Hey," Joel smiled, turning back to the cooler, "You here for the drinks or the freebase?"

Ray snickered, the stress-induced tension in his bones easing. Joel was a great guy; someone Ray didn't talk to often, but when he did, he was always entertained. "I'll pass for now. Next time," he straightened his glasses.

The older man finally settled on a vintage-looking bottle, bending the cap off with a nearby opener. "Did you need anything, or just here to chat?" He leaned against the counter, bottle held lazily in his left hand. Ray mentally scrabbled about, trying to remember his question.

"Oh," he responded quickly, "You're gonna go hang with everyone at Geoff's after work, right?"

Joel nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "Need a ride?"

"Yup. That too much trouble?"

"Not at all," Joel assured, walking towards the doorway Ray stood near, "My car's in the back lot. We can- You can let me know when you're off work, yeah?" His speech skipped slightly, something not uncommon in the man's way of communication.

Agreeing to find Joel after work, Ray thanked him. Joel replied by pushing the younger man's glasses off his ears.

The day passed in a blur of recording, editing, and laughing. Ray focused on breathing, relaxing. The evening would be fun, he was sure, but that nagging fear of something going wrong tugged at his shoulders, rippled down his spine.

Work slowed and people began to leave the facility. Ray shot a text to his ride, letting him know he was going out to the lot. Throwing his wallet and phone into his backpack, the lad made his way out to the parking lot just as Joel turned around the corner.

Waving, Joel unlocked his car. Ray climbed into the passenger's seat, again greeting and thanking Joel for the ride to the Ramsey's. "Sorry I suck and I can't drive myself," he grumbled, half to himself. Joel hid a smile, telling Ray it was perfectly fine.

The car rolled from it's station on the black pavement and out onto the road. The two made small talk, asking about work involvement, upcoming projects, friends and family. The conversation rolled into a calm silence, Ray watching the sky change from blue to orange hues as the sun descended. He checked the clock; almost six.

"Did you want to see if anything is on the radio?" Joel asked lightly, staring at the road before him.

Ray shrugged, reaching for the dial.

Contact.

Images fluttered behind his eyes, overtaking his vision in a sea of red-tinged darkness. His consciousness lapsed, replaced with waking dreams, memories yet to be lived.

Shadows swirled, the shape of a familiar being. It stepped into a small room, turned a knob. A car. Another figure came into focus, sitting beside it's counterpart. It put it's hand on the radio, and garbled sound resonated in Ray's brain. A cooing came from one figure; both seemed to laugh.

His mind began to reject the imposed reality, tearing holes in the vision. He felt faraway, his body too strung out to breathe without the physical attatchment to initiative...

"Ray!"

His eyes flicked open. He was trembling ever so slightly, resting limp against the cushions of the passenger seat; he back of his neck uncomfortably warm, sticky sweat beginning to form on his skin. Joel stared at him with worry in his gaze, the car pulled to a stop on the side of the road.

"Are you alright?"

Ray inhaled through his nose, his chest hiccuping the breath as he tried to calm himself, to wake from the haze he had been tossed into. Questions buzzed in his skull, his attention yo-yoing from the external reactions around him and the internal turmoil he suddenly faced.

Memories resurfaced.

The first few weeks.

He had made contact with a young woman at a grocery store cash register when she handed him his change. Her nails had flicked across his palm, and he immediately knew her stories, her secrets.

Allison G. Maren. Twenty-three. Slightly racist. Irritable, self-obsessed. Dating a young man, feels she is worth more than what he gives her, planning to break it off.

Ray had stumbled out of the store, his forehead in his hands. There was no pain, simply constant knowledge. A faucet that was impossible to turn off. Behind his eyes, the ghost flitted in the shadows. Ray returned home, feeling feverish and uncomfortable.

After a night's sleep and a day of focus, the young man found the borders of his power and how to manipulate it. After time, he would find himself in busy malls or crowded bus stops, brushing past people, intrigued by their stories.

"Psychometry (n.): The supposed ability to discover facts about an event or person by touching inanimate objects associated with them," his phone defined, when Ray's curiosity urged him to learn more about his newfound skill.

"Ray!"

Wakefulness settled in. Ray turned his head toward Joel.

"Ray, Jesus Christ, what's wrong?"

"...I fell asleep."

"Ray." Joel turned off the car, turning his body to face the younger man. His every motion was stiff and mature, concerned. Fear begin to seep into Ray's bloodstream.

"There's something wrong, going on with you, it doesn't take a genius to tell. Everyone is worried, you haven't been yourself," Joel shook his head slightly, a nervous tic from a neurotic man.

"I'm fine, I really am, I dozed off. It's okay Joel," Ray reassured, looking away, "I'm okay."

Joel sighed. Turning the key to the ignition, the car rumbled back to life. "I'm taking you home," he announced.

"Joel-"

"Ray, you were out fucking cold."

"Joel, you'll be late-"

"Doesn't matter."

Silence, not nearly as comfortable as before. Ray dared not touch the dial to the radio. Angry, embarrassed, distraught, afraid, confused, he realized he wanted sleep and nothing more.

He glanced at the older man.

There was a youth Joel always had in his features, specifically his eyes. In his dark eyes. A cunning and mischievous youth that made him stutter while talking and grin at his own humor. A youth that created him, defined him.

In that moment, there was no youth. There was only empathetic tiredness.

"Joel."

Blinking.

"I'm okay."

Looking over.

"I'm just going through a part of my life where I have to make some real decisions," Ray stared forward, "and it's pretty fucking scary sometimes."

Blinking again. Hands loosening their pressure on the steering wheel ever so slightly. Joel bit his lip.

"Everything's scary, when you think too hard."

"I'm assuming that's why you never use your fucking brain for anything."

"Bingo."

**Ray smiled.**


	3. Personal

The car pulled up to the complex's nearby sidewalk. The two men got out of the vehicle, chatting quietly.

"I'm a fucking loser," Ray apologized, "and I made you drive me all over and made you late. You can tell Geoff to fire me when you get to his place."

Joel shrugged. "I don't think I'm gonna go," he said passively.

"I'm SHIT, oh my god, I wasted your time, Joel I'm sorry-"

"No no no, it's fine! I wasn't planning on going in the first place," he reassured. "I mean, I was taking you there, because you needed a ride and I have a car, and it's not like I wasn't going to go there even though you were-"

Joel stumbled over his words as the two walked to Ray's apartment building. Ray snickered as the other man groaned in annoyance, confused as to what he was trying to express. "I was going because you were," he blurted out before clapping a hand over his face. "I mean, no, fuck."

"English is hard," Ray laughed, approaching the complex's entrance. "So you're just going to go downtown, I guess?"

"Yeah. Bar. Get some drinks."

Ray opened the door to the facility after swiping his card. "Pick up some hot dudes for me," he grinned. Joel promised he would do his best.

"And, um..."

The older man was turning to leave, but he stopped, attentive.

"I, uh... Sorry for scaring you like that, back there," Ray apologized shyly, looking down, "And for being a fucking high school girl about it. I got stressed."

"Hey," the dark-haired man said, walking backwards, "It's fine, happens to the best of us. I'm here if you need to talk." He smiled, said goodbye, and continued his stroll through the ever-darkening night.

"See ya," Ray murmured. He climbed up the stairs to his floor, unlocking the door to his flat. He lifted his hand to turn on the light.

Contact.

His every muscle tightened when the sensation of recollections not yet lived rushed into his mind.

Buckling, he saw the light turned off by a being made of shadow, a silhouette, an image of himself. His persona grumbled in the darkness, followed by another voice laughing.

Control of his own body clawed at his conscious state, tearing the dream apart. Ray felt himself convulse, limbs curling involuntarily, muscles pulling taught. A phase of wakeful sleep passed over him, his vision graced by angels and cursed by demons.

His ghost stared at him with empty eyes.

"Control," it mouthed.

Ray stared, emotion fleeing his soul, brought forth into the air he breathed. The ghost blinked slowly. "Control," it repeated, fading.

Ray woke.

His breath was heavy, his every fiber sore. He was curled at the foot of his apartment door, his mind reeling. What do I do, what's happening to me?

He struggled to his feet, debating whether to call 911 or the doctor, or to try and figure out the problem himself. He ruled out external contact; this sort of dilemma wasn't something everyone-or anyone-ran into every day. It was linked to his new talents, his powers. The realization made him shudder.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sat on the nearby couch and flipped through webpage after webpage of useless information. Broadening his search, he found a page that had already been opened.

"That fucking wiki article," he hissed through his teeth.

For the second time in his life, Ray found himself poring over the psychometry page on Wikipedia, trying to understand the supernatural phenomenon: Triggers, characteristics, how to avoid it. Time passed, the night grew darker. They young man drifted in and out of sleep.

Ray woke to a painfully loud alarm buzzing in his hands. The living room light was still on; Ray's phone read 3:05 AM.

Scrabbling to stand, the Puerto Rican balanced on aching feet. He considered not going out that night; he didn't want to strain himself more than he already had. However, something deep within his soul urged him to go. his mind knew it was the right thing to do and his gut demanded he take up his position, he fulfill his responsibilities.

Ray pulled the hoodie he had modified over his head, put the white mask over his eyes. A fear had settled in his soul, deep-seated and heavy, but the young man simply stood taller. Control.

The light switch remained on, untouched, as Ray left his flat.

He padded uneasily down the street. 3 AM is not a forgiving hour. 3 AM is when the monsters stare from the shadows, crawling along walls and hunting for god knows what pleasures. The only way to hide from the creatures was to become one of them; walk in shadow, look down, look down, stop often, move quickly, look down. Be thankful for the cigarettes and rotting food, the piss and pennies; savor the scent of 3 AM.

Echoes in the distance.

Ray turned towards the sound, making his way through alleys populated primarily by cats and roaches. With every step, he became more focused on his target. 3 AM, where the less-than-humans prowl.

He was not secure outside his field anymore. Waking hours were full of fear, and Ray was very harsh with himself when the eyes of strangers were on him. He stopped leaving the house, called it work, hid amongst his friends that he would invite over. Friends he would invite over.

With every step, he became more focused on his target: another lie to himself.

They had broken up nearly a year ago. Courtney saw it in his eyes when he spoke. She knew the fear all too well, but Ray would not tell her why. He denied its existence, told her he was fine. She said she was fine too.

They treasured one another's company, until they didn't.

Ray tried to pull away from the memories, but his thoughts echoed.

He refused to draw information from her with his skills, he put so much pressure on himself, he hid everything he could, and then their last breath. He slipped.

_Thinks it's her fault._

He was sick with himself, he hated his every fiber. He never wanted any of this.

That night, he dreamt of his ghost stealing the souls of those he loved.

Ray tore himself back to the present when glaring lights whizzed by. Two motorcycles sped away as a certain Puerto Rican followed suit.

The yelling was louder, defined and urgent. Approaching the area, Ray realized Gavin and Michael's favorite bar was just a few buildings away. Stepping slowly, pressed against the wall, he peered around the corner. Two men, both of sturdy build, one making all the noise. Drunk, as bar scum tend to be.

Ray crept in the shadows, his veins flowing with adrenaline. The scent of roses stood out against the nighttime stink of city streets. His arms tingled, itching to prepare an attack.

"YOU SWITCHED OUT HER GLASS!"

A mumble from the quiet one. He was backed into the shadows by the louder man, but his shape looked familiar. Ray drew nearer.

"THAT'S THE POINT OF ROOFIES, YOU FUCKING FAG!"

The other trembled.

There were times where a situation could fall either way, which made assumption dangerous. There were also times where it was obvious, and it was dangerous. Ray struck without warning.

A rose to the shoulder blade. The drunk man hollered as the flower embedded itself deep in his skin. He turned around to see a twiggy, hooded boy with glowing palms.

Before the drunkard could blink, Ray shot him with a blast of energy. Though he was still practicing the skill, the beam floored it's target with ease.

Rushing forward, he checked the bleeding man's pulse. Still present. He did not want a dead man.

_Simon H. Warren. Thirty-seven. Abusive partner. Intent on rape of specific woman. Anger management issues. Both parents passed away._

The other man was trembling even more violently than before. Ray looked up to address him.

Blood froze, muscles tensed.

Ray's entire body screamed when he stood. He needed to run, to disappear, but he needed to alert the police and calm the man and breathe.

"Call the police," he whispered as loud as he could, hiding his voice, "Tell them T.M. was here."

Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Home.

"Th-thank you," fear, neurotic stutter. Nervous tic. He put his hand out to shake.

Ray handed a rose to Joel.

Home.


	4. Cover the Blisters in Flannel

He wasn't prepared for teleportation. His knowledge of it was minimal, his practice next to none. He felt himself being stretched across time, thrust through space, begging for the reconstruction of a familiar scene.

Home.

The lad gasped, as if drowning, the moment he hit the floor of his flat. His knees buckled, his limbs feeling more like rubber bands than arms and legs. He tossed the mask from his face, it's tough plastic clattering to the floor. For the second time in a single night, Ray collapsed, embracing sleep.

Morning, then noon. Ray blinked his eyes open. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, illuminating tiny dust particles that drifted through the air, languid, free. The young man groaned as he tried to rise.

He didn't know if Joel had recognized him or not. He didn't know if his coworker had made it home safe. He didn't know if the opposing dangerous man had been captured by the police or not. He didn't care. His body ached, but it was too late in the day to sleep any more.

He grabbed his water bottle from the refrigerator and sat on the small couch in his living room. Taking an Xbox controller from off the coffee table, he tried to relax with his favorite games.

A button. Left trigger. A button. Right button. A button. B button. A button. X button, Y button...

He didn't know if his coworker had made it home safe: yet another lie to himself. He needed to stop doing that.

The Puerto Rican breathed in. He was tired of being tired, as all tired people often are.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he selected Joel's contact info. Holding the device to his ear, he waited as it rang. Time stretched, each trill of the phone feeling like minutes, hours.

"Ray?"

Exhale.

"Hey Joel."

"I'm a little busy. Is there something you need?" Snappish, jittery.

The image of Joel shivering in terror returned to the younger man's mind.

"Um..."

"Listen, Ray, I have a lot of work ahead of me and I need to finish it up. Can you talk to me on Monday?"

"...Ok."

"Great."

The older man hung up without saying goodbye.

Ray sat motionless before bringing the phone away from his face. He stared down at the black screen. Despite his deliberate and slow action, Ray's mind twitched and flipped. The older man was distressed, as anyone in their right mind would be after nearly being beaten by a drunkard in the dead of night, but the tone he used almost sounded as if there were complexities behind that anxiety running through him.

Ray decided to be rash.

Unlocking the device, he called Joel once more. The older man answered the phone yet again, but before he could breathe a word of annoyance, Ray blurted:

"Wanna get lunch?"

A beat. Ray felt his insides tighten; he was a fool to bother Joel.

Response.

"Are you asking me out?" Ray could hear the smile on the other end of the line.

"Bitch, I might be," he laughed. Joel cooed in faux adoration, the stress in his voice melting away.

"A little sandwich shop opened up near my apartments, if you wanted to come check it out. If you're actually legitimately busy," Ray tsked, "then you should take a load off. It's fucking Saturday, Joel."

"Alright, alright," the older man huffed. "Text me directions and I'll meet you there in, what, half an hour?"

"Sounds good. See you there."

"See you."

A click.

Ray pulled himself from the couch to turn off the television. He meandered from the living space to his room's closet to the shower in his small bathroom. He pulled off his hooded jacket, staring at the handiwork.

Tina had helped him. Neither of them were perfect at sewing, but , but despite their minimal knowledge, Ray ended up with something that did the job. Thick, black fabric; white cuffs. Wobbly stitches fastened a felt rose cutout over the left side of the chest. The hood was lengthened to cloak Ray's eyes when pulled over. Tina thought it was a little ridiculous, but she asked no questions.

Ray found the mask on his own. He told himself it was for the anonymity, but he knew it was really nostalgia behind the purchase. The reason behind his feelings of nostalgia were not clear to him; It simply seemed right.

The young man turned on the shower after tossing the hoodie to the floor. Pulling off the rest of his clothes, he stepped into the stream of water, leaning against the wall. His thoughts washed out of his mind, leaving Ray to relax with nothing but the smell of roses.

Again, time passed with little fuss, little thought. Clean and hopeful, Ray made his way around the busy streets of downtown Austin. The springtime sun was bright, but It was strange experiencing lights and sounds not connected to theft or rape, and Ray found himself scrutinizing many a passerby. His usual discomfort crept upon him slowly, like a poison seeping through his veins, making him flinch and shudder inwardly. The small sparks of confidence he had felt before were smothered. Rusty clock hands clicked in slow motion. Discomfort turned to fear, fear of blue and brown and green and gray eyes staring, asking "Who is that?" "Why is he here?"

Fear was not of others, fear was of himself. Of himself. Looking down, hurrying along, like a sinner under streetlight; himself. Fear.

Fear of becoming the grime and stench of night.

"Ray!"

His entire body jolted as the rusty clocks in his mind ticked forth once more, leaving thorned flowers in their wake. Blood bubbled from pinpricks: a rose grasped firmly in his hand the cause of such sudden pain. He turned, his mind muddled but the fear dispersing.

"You almost walked right past me. Some date you are," Joel sat at a small wooden table in front of a sandwich shop. His posture was that of exhaustion, but his expression reflected gratefulness for company.

"Yeah, shoutout to me for being stupid," Ray shrugged, feigning disappointment. Joel laughed at the younger man's passive nature.

His attention was drawn away by the flower in Ray's hand. "What're you holding?" the man asked, gesturing to the rose.

"Oh, this? Uh, I just…" Ray scrambled to find a response. He had handed Joel an almost identical one last night under his guise; Joel was not stupid, he'd make the connection.

"I found it on the sidewalk near my apartment complex. I don't know, I guess I thought it looked nice," Ray lied, picking at the petals.

"That's weird."

"Yeah. Must've fallen out of someone's bouquet or something."

"Can I see it?"

Ray passed Joel the blossom. "For you," the lad cooed, snickering.

"Oh Ray, you shouldn't have," Joel mused, examining the rose. Ray sat in anxious silence, attempting to appear nonchalant.

After a few moments, Joel set the slowly wilting flower on the table and the two went into the shop to get lunch. They made light banter about favorite foods and current events, the older man rigidly explaining his views on the doomed stock market while the younger man made references that he would then clarify.

At the counter, Joel grabbed a newspaper from the rack of prints, putting a few extra dollars on the counter. The two took their sandwiches out to the table.

Ray bit into his meal as the other man flipped intently through the newspaper. "Ignoring me? Some date you are," he quipped after swallowing his food. Joel glanced up, the ghost of a grin on his face. He folded the paper, turned it to face Ray.

The article headline: "Who is TM?"

Ray bristled.

"You heard of that guy? T.M.?" Joel didn't appear to be confronting.

"...Some. Not much. I mean, I know what he does and all."

Joel was silent. He stared at the rose, pushed to the edge of the table.

Had Ray not been the mask, the man behind the roses and newspaper articles, he would not have known what to say. But he was the man, and he was perceptive in ways he was not before.

"You met him."

"...Yeah."

"When? What happened?"

Age graced Joel's features. He did not look old; rather, he looked like he had seen the world over and over again, like wisdom was worthless, like a man who, as a child, dreaded growing up. Jaded shame, disappointment.

"Listen."

Joel looked up.

"It's gonna be fine."

Ray saw the older man grow envious of Ray's naivete: furrowed brows, nervous tic motion of the head to the left, tongue stuck to the roof of the mouth. Stutter.

"I- Fuck- I have to go. Work. I have to work."

Joel rose, his movements shuddery and sudden. Ray sat motionless, his head empty. The other man was no longer in his line of sight.

The Puerto Rican stood slowly. Gathering the things up from the table, he turned. Joel was standing a small ways away. He looked ashamed.

"It's not your fault." Honesty.

Ray blinked at the older man's statement. His mind strayed.

"It's not yours either." The words sounded isolated, as if they were prerecorded.

Joel walked away, the ghost of Courtney on his heels.


End file.
